


Rules of Acquisition

by Karasuno Volleygays (ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor)



Series: Valentine's Kisses 2019 [44]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, RIP Tanaka, They put the UST in LUST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-27 22:54:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17775776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor/pseuds/Karasuno%20Volleygays
Summary: Futakuchi is the coffee guy on a movie set, and damn he really wants to bang the director.





	Rules of Acquisition

“A latte for you, a black extra large for you, macchiato for you, and prissy little girl tea for you.”

Futakuchi can see Ennoshita grind his teeth at his commentary on their current round of beverages, and he enjoys it way too much. Despite being a relatively noted director in the independent film industry, Ennoshita Chikara is a pretty normal guy. He wears regular jeans and hoodies, eats the same delivery garbage as the rest of the crew does, and probably hasn’t had his guybrows groomed in his life like . . . ever. 

But damn, he is cute. 

Therefore, Futakuchi decides that guys don’t act all approachable like that to plebes like him unless they  _ want  _ to be approached, and from the accounts of past set help, if Ennoshita doesn’t like something, you know it right away. While he’s never seen Ennoshita verbally eviscerate someone, he desperately wants to, even if that person ends up being himself.

And so their bizarre courtship begins.

It’s stupidly early and the crew arrives far before the sunlight does, and they rush around under the illumination of floodlights to get the set ready for the actors’ arrival. Now some of the actors are people Futakuchi can do without. If so much as ONE fewer almond than requested has its lifeblood squeezed into their special Hawaiian/Columbian/Martian/whatever coffee blend, they’ll throw an unholy fit and usually the drink, too. 

Somehow, after throwing one back, Futakuchi still manages to have a job, so at least he can chalk that one up to Ennoshita not putting up with bullshit.

The day gets underway, and Futakuchi’s work slows down while the cameras roll. Leaning up against the nearby makeup trailer, he watches a cinematic masterpiece unfold. It’s probably going to be the best romcom ever made, with the main character only remembering her blind date from a kiss in the dark of a club bathroom stall. Bonus points that they’re lesbians. Not a lot of people have the balls to make queer entertainment, but Ennoshita isn’t ‘most people’.

“Oi, Futakuchi!” calls Tanaka, Ennoshita’s old time friend and expert gaffer, which is a rather pretentious title for someone who makes a living playing with duct tape.

Tanaka nods toward Ennoshita. “Refill.”

Futakuchi darts off. He knows exactly what Ennoshita wants at this time of the day: regular old joe with a packet of powdered hot chocolate stirred into it, poured over milk and ice. He likes it better than regular iced coffee, and apparently Futakuchi mixes it ‘just right’. He isn’t sure how someone could possibly fuck that up, but judging by the state of the world in general, people always find ways to screw up simple things.

Just to prove he’s not a complete shithead, Futakuchi even brings Tanaka a big-ass cappuccino, which he drinks almost all of before Futakuchi even makes it to Ennoshita’s chair. “There ya go, Chika. One ghetto iced coffee, extra large.”

“Thanks, Kenji,” Ennoshita murmurs, not dragging his eyes away from the scene currently being shot, blindly bringing the straw to his lips from years of practice. “And don’t call me that.”

“You’re not ghetto. Just your coffee.” Ennoshita swats at him and misses, and for the hell of it, Futakuchi hunches down to peer over Ennoshita’s shoulder. He doesn’t have the expertise to pin down what it is, but there is something objectively terrible about the acting in this stretch of dialogue. “Wow, somebody watches too much K-drama.”

Ennoshita spits out his mouthful of coffee, choking on his own breath. Futakuchi bites back a laugh while he pats Ennoshita’s back until he can inhale properly. Tanaka’s staring daggers at him, of course. Then again, Futakuchi has never been sure whether Tanaka is angry all the time or if his face is just scrunched up like a constipated warthog by accident of birth.

The scene grinds to a halt at the disturbance, and the actors reset themselves to restart the page while their director gets his shit together. Ennoshita’s first act of business once his coughing fit subsides is to give Futakuchi a searching look. 

“I was thinking the same thing.” His arms cross, and his brush with death is long forgotten. It’s another thing about Ennoshita that Futakuchi finds attractive, the lack of interest in anything other than what he’s trying to achieve. 

Futakuchi snags the chair next to Ennoshita, which has The Big Star’s name plastered all over it, and watches the action crawl back to life on set. “Not sure how to explain it, but when she’s saying all that stuff, it sounds like she’s never been distressed about a damn thing in her life but wants people to think she has. She has trauma, not the vapors.”

Ennoshita gawks at him, wrenches his gaze toward the set, and back to Futakuchi. “I’ve been trying to put my finger on what I didn’t like about this scene for hours.” He chuckles. “If I had the budget, I’d give you a raise for your coffee alone.”

Shrugging, Futakuchi says, “Meh, I get by.” By getting by, he means he still lives with his parents at twenty six, and as a big ol’ flaming homo in a country that doesn’t allow gay marriage, that’s unlikely to change unless everyone over the age of fifty were to kick the bucket all at once. Unlikely, but a guy can hope.

“Anyway, you should come by the editing trailer later.” Ennoshita takes a long drag of his drink and hums in pleasure. “I could use another perspective.”

In Futakuchi’s utterly uninformed opinion, he probably has nothing of value to offer Ennoshita in a professional capacity, but he agrees nonetheless. “Gotcha. I’ll see you in two hours with a refill.”

“Make it an hour. I didn’t get to drink half of this one.” 

Futakuchi laughs as he saunters away, sure that he’s getting one leg up on the competition. He has no idea who else might be vying for Ennoshita’s affections, but he’ll pull their hearts out and eat it in front of them like some feral dragon lord.

After the dinner buffet, Futakuchi drifts over to the editing trailer, where Ennoshita is already poring over the dailies and shoveling food into his mouth with a fork in lieu of chopsticks. Futakuchi sits next to him and tries to figure out what the hell it is he’s supposed to do. He can’t think of a single way he could be helpful other than provide witty commentary.

Maybe that’s enough.

“See that guy in the background walking his dog and humming a song?” Futakuchi waits for Ennoshita to pause and follow the finger pointing it out on the screen. “Dude, this is the real world. This guy would probably be perving on the girl in front of him wearing leggings and a miniskirt. People aren’t buckets of sunshine. People are bastards.”

Ennoshita harrumphs. “I didn’t even give that guy stage direction, because you’re actually right. I forgot to write it down last night, but I wanted her to run under a tree, pull on a branch, and smack him in the face with it as it whips back.”

Futakuchi slumps back on the poorly upholstered couch opposite the battered flat screen television set that’s seen better days and laughs. “Oh my god, that’s awesome. Hitting dudebros in the face with trees is gay rights.”

Ennoshita freezes, the remote dropping to the floor unheeded as he gapes at Futakuchi. “Uh, you all right there, Chika?”

“You like guys?”

With a noncommittal shrug, Futakuchi answers, “Well, yeah. I don’t really bring it up because people are . . . people, but I am completely and utterly gay.”

“Oh.” Ennoshita’s hands fold on his lap, and he wrings his fingers over and over, staring off into space as something brews in that head of his. Finally, he says, “I’m actually really glad you said something. You see, I sort of have a thing for you but Tanaka told me to play it cool until I figure out whether you’re flamboyant or just annoying.”

Licking his lips, Futakuchi pumps his fist. “Oh hell yeah, it’s my lucky day.” 

Futakuchi swings a leg over Ennoshita’s and straddles his lap, draping his arms loosely over his shoulders. “Can you imagine all the gossip that will fly around when people three trailers over can hear us fucking like rabbits, ‘cause that is totally on my bucket list.”

Ennoshita crushes their mouths together, and Futakuchi grinds his junk hard against Ennoshita’s, swallowing the groan it elicits. Surprisingly strong hands slip into the back pockets of his jeans and knead his ass, and Futakuchi wants to throw a tantrum that they haven’t been doing this forever.

Fingers pluck at buttons and flies, and clothing sheds in all direction as they tear into each other. The barrage of kisses and bites and good old fashioned fondling doesn’t stop until Futakuchi’s undershirt is peeled from his torso. “Holy shit,” Ennoshita hisses. “I could bounce a tennis ball off your abs.”

Futakuchi waggles his eyebrows. “I would really rather bounce you instead.”

“You better put your money where your mouth is, Futakuchi.” 

“Thought you’d never ask.” Futakuchi wrenches off his underwear and quickly rids Ennoshita of his, and in one quick motion hefts Ennoshita by the rear and presses him against the bathroom door of the trailer. “We’re so gonna have to try this later with a box of toys, a gallon of lube, and a lot of time on our hands.”

Ennoshita growls at him, eyes hooded and dark. “Move, damn it.”

He does just that, thrusting up into Ennoshita’s hands, which are cradling their cocks together. The entire trailer shakes with the force of it, His legs start to burn because Ennoshita isn’t heavy, but he’s not light, either. However, nothing short of losing a limb would make him slow, and it definitely won’t make him stop. 

Or a guest. That would definitely make him pause.

Ennoshita whips his head over to see who is interrupting their little tryst, only to find a wide-eyed Tanaka standing in the doorway and staring at them like he’s never seen two dudes fucking. Maybe he hasn’t. Who cares? Certainly not Futakuchi.

“Ryuu, this isn’t what it looks like,” Ennoshita blurts, and Futakuchi chuckles into the smooth flesh of Ennoshita’s shoulder, where he has left a mark or five to hopefully find later and add more to.

Tanaka blinks. “Uh, it looks like you’re banging the coffee guy.”

Futakuchi snorts. “Then it’s exactly what it looks like.” He bites Ennoshita’s shoulder, drawing out a low growl, and he sends Tanaka a scathing look. “Now get lost. Chika is thirsty, and I  _ am _ the coffee guy. No buzz cuts allowed.”

Almost fleeing the trailer, Tanaka goes right back the way he came and once again, they’re alone. Their eyes meet, and they both burst into laughter in unison. “So, how long before everyone on set knows we’re sleeping together?” Futakuchi asks.

“Nah, Ryuu’s a good guy. He won’t tell anyone unless we tell him we can.” Ennoshita snares a kiss and rolls his hips into Futakuchi’s. “And I’m not ready to let that slip yet. I want you to myself first.”

Leaning over to whisper in Ennoshita’s ear, Futakuchi murmurs, “Yeah, until I make you scream so loud that nobody in a hundred kilometers  _ doesn’t _ know that I fuck you just the way you like it.”

Ennoshita swears under his breath, and Futakuchi picks up his pace. When they both wring an O out of each other, Futakuchi staggers backward onto the bench and sprawls with Ennoshita limp and sated in his lap. Futakuchi’s fingers idly trace the line of Ennoshita’s spine, slicked with sweat he personally put there.

“So, you hired me because you wanted to bone me, didn’t you?”

Probably too tired to pretend otherwise, Ennoshita nods against his chest and yawns. “Pretty much. Your coffee really is good, though. That part was a surprise.”

“I’d be hurt if I weren’t getting laid for my trouble.” His fingers course through Ennoshita’s silken hair, and his own eyes start drifting closed. Sighing, he grabs the nearest garment (one of Ennoshita’s socks) and mops up as much come as he can. Now he can pass out, with a stupid smile on his face and a gorgeous dweeb on his everything else.


End file.
